


The Steep Price Affair

by kaijusizefeels



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Hurt Napoleon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Illya
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-18 11:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21810190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijusizefeels/pseuds/kaijusizefeels
Summary: Illya saves Napoleon at a steep price. Exactly how much does Napoleon mean for Illya?Beautiful cover by Atanau
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 6
Kudos: 84
Collections: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Winter Holiday Gift Exchange 2019





	The Steep Price Affair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nixie_DeAngel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixie_DeAngel/gifts).



> [Beautiful cover by Atanau](https://66.media.tumblr.com/57c5291bd706b271d3407d0f32d82f52/tumblr_messaging_q2ws9caOOn1tbi45g_1280.jpg)
> 
> For the request:  
> Illya and Napoleon have grown close after months of working together, but Napoleon isn't sure on how close until he's attacked and gets seriously injured on a mission and watches/finds out Illya went into a rage because of it on the bad guy(s). (May include relieved "your okay sex", but not necessary.)
> 
> Sorry, sorry sorry!!! The muse escaped my clutch and I'm not able to finish this story in its entirety. I know the direction of the plot and even has a sequel planned but just can't seem to be able to put things down in a cohesive way.
> 
> Much thanks to my beta Manasi for beating the thing into shape and to Atanau for helping to co-write and nudge me in the right direction. I’m sorry if there are weird typos, AO3 keeps inserting these weird spaces and the HTML code is a mess.

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid you will have to be support this time around, Mr. Kuryakin. We can't take the risk of these KGB renegades recognizing you," Waverly told them during the briefing.

"I wear disguise," Illya retorted.

"Yes, like that fake mustache you wore during our mission in Prague last month. Amazingly that silly looking lip-caterpillar held up surprisingly well, even when you were busy beating up the mark's henchmen whilst pretending to be a photographer," Napoleon added helpfully. "Great disguise."

Illya growled at Napoleon's rather one-sided recount of their last mission and shoved the thick mission brief into Napoleon's chest, _hard_.

"Oomph!" Napoleon grinned back, "Peril. Just leave this to the lovely Miss Teller and myself. It will be a piece of cake."

Gaby rolled her eyes.

* * *

"A piece of cake!  Dummkopf! You and your big mouth, Napoleon!" Gaby yelled at him as they ran through the castle corridor trying to put as much distance between themselves and their chasers.

Napoleon was rather impressed that she managed to keep their speed with her shoes, special UNCLE - designed heels or not.  If it hadn’t for the stinging fact that this time it was he who that messed up and blew their cover, he might even have been able to enjoy their spirited excursion through the opulent lair.

"Russians are entirely too suspicious for their own good!" Napoleon lamented and ran a bit faster to catch up to her. "How was I suppose to know that— watch out, Gaby!"

He saw the hidden shooter too late to do anything else but to push Gaby out of the way. The bullet, a headshot meant for her, embedded itself into his right shoulder. His momentum threw him rolling down the long staircase.

"Napoleon!" Gaby shouted and returned fire. "Napoleon, are you alright?"

He landed in a heap of limbs at the bottom of the steps, his breath knocked out of him. He could barely raise his arm from the pain , so alright wa s probably not an accurate description of his state.

Gaby bravely tried to swing his arm over her shoulder to help him stand; He couldn't help but cry out in pain and noticed for the first time the completely wrong angle of his left ankle.

"Gaby, Gaby," he stopped her when she bent down to try again. "You're going to have a make a run for it without me. I'll just slow you down. You have to get the intel to Waverly."

She looked like she want ed  to argue some more.

"I'll be fine." He smiled encouragingly at her. "I managed to win over our Red Peril after all." _Except Illya has more principles in his little pinky than all of these scumbags combined._

"Napoleon." She still looked reluctant, but they can hear Russian curses coming down the hallway.

"Go!" He pushed her away with his good arm. "Tell Peril that I will be fine!"

"I'll get Illya. We will be back for you, Napoleon! I promise,"

He watched her run into the darkness and let out a sigh of relief.

_Please be safe._

It was not a prayer because Napoleon Solo didn't believe in anything other than human foibles, but he hoped that someone, something out there was listening.

"Gentlemen." He greeted his soon-to-be-jailers with a bright smile. "Beautiful night for a good chase, da?"

Another thing about Russians, they don't have a good sense of humor, he thought briefly as a steel-toed boot came  at his abdomen.

* * *

Illya turned to around for the umpteenth time in his periodic pacing around their getaway car. Napoleon, trying to funny, insisted on a Mini Cooper. It will blend in better, he had argued innocently, not so daunting looking. But Illya had caught Napoleon snickering off to the side when he had to gingerly fold his tall frame into the compact driver seat.

He resolved to make Cowboy sit behind him after he pushed his seat as far back as possible as punishment. The mental image of a scrunched up, disgruntled Napoleon gave him a brief moment of amusement.

No living soul would ever know his secret; he would never admit aloud but Cowboy had a charming pout. 

"Illya!" Gaby ran out of the darkness, dirty and covered in blood. "Napoleon... Napoleon!" She dropped to her knees, desperately gulping for breath.

He helped her toward the car gently, fearful to aggravate any wounds but she batted his hands away. "Blood's not mine. We have to go get Napoleon! He made me leave him behind. We have to save him."

His blood turned cold.

"Illya, did you hear me? We have to go back and get him!" She yelled at him even as he gently pushed her into the passenger seat.

"Cover comprised. They know we are here. Would most likely not succeed. " He told her mechanically, reciting his training back to her verbatim. His grip on the steering wheel was hard enough to cause the leather binding to creak. Illya tried to pay more attention to the pulses and hums of the engine rather than Gaby's indignant cries of shock.

As he drives away from the empty field, for the first time in years, Illya prayed. 

_Almighty God, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, come to my help and deliver me from this difficulty that besets me._

* * *

Illya's relationship with Oleg had always been clear; that Oleg had power over him was indisputable. But as far as KGB handlers are concerned, Oleg was a decent one. A black mark somewhere in his long history of service meant that he could not aspire for a position higher than that of a handler. Still, his position afforded him plenty of freedom not available to regular citizens.

For the first time, Illya wanted to hurt the man when he said that the mission was complete now that he ha d  enough information to identify the KGB renegades. Gaby looked worryingly at his trembling hands. His angry retorts buried underneath a mountain of anger. His anger held his tongue

It was Waverly who spoke up first, "I'm afraid this is unacceptable. Agent Solo is a valuable part of UNCLE and it is not UNCLE's policy to leave its agents in enemy hands." 

"If he is still alive. He may not even be alive." Oleg said dismissively.

Gaby's hand shot out to grip Illya's.

"I can assure you that Agent Solo is extremely resourceful, one of our best. I have no doubt that he is alive. Now, please," Waverly's voice was still polite but contained an additional edge, "tell us everything you know about these people."

* * *

"Illya," Gaby was worried. Illya had been like a man possessed, furiously demanding information from Oleg in too-rapid Russian. It was only due to Waverly's frequent interjections that she was able to follow the conversation.

It appeared that their best chance for success was for The KGB to burn Illya and for him to join the renegades. Illya's contract with UNCLE was top clearance knowledge and even then, only a few necessary individuals were informed; the Central Committee did not want many people to know that one of the KGB's top agents is willingly working with the West.

"Of course, to sell your defection, we'll have to rely on more than their ignorance. Illya Nikolaevich Kuryakin, are you ready to renounce the motherland? To part with what you hold dear?" Oleg asked ominously.

Gaby liked neither his tone of voice nor the chillingly blank look that settled on Illya's face. "But we know that this is a ruse," she pointed out.

"Not enough," Illya explained to her. "To make it look realistic, KGB will have to denounce me as traitor."

"Not only that but your father's criminal past, which we kindly sealed once you became an agent, will be released now to be used against you. Even at the end of this affair, you will likely remain a traitor to the state. You will face the death penalty if you are ever found in Soviet territory again. Is that a price you are willing to pay, Kuryakin? Your mother is getting on in years. You will never see her or anyone from your extended family again."

"Oh, Illya."

Gaby looked at Waverly but he remained silent and motionless, neither confirming nor denying Oleg's statement.

Illya talked about himself so rarely that Napoleon and she, orphans themselves, had never bothered to speculate if he had any family left in the USSR, tacitly assuming that it was the same for him. "You're asking too much of him," she told Oleg who stared back at her unimpressed.

"So stop bothering with this foolish plan."

"Nyet. This is our best chance." Illya stated flatly. Then quietly he asked Oleg, "Would you deliver a letter to my mother?

For a long time, the handler said nothing. To Gaby's surprise, he eventually acquiesced with a nod. "One last letter, Kuryakin."

“Illya,” she tries to reach out.

"Yes." Illya simply agreed. He refused to meet her eyes, nor did he reach out for her hand in comfort.

Finally, Waverly broke his silence. "We must set you up at a new safe house, Mr. Kuryakin so that your relationship with UNCLE is not so readily apparent."

* * *

Over the months that he had been with UNCLE, Gaby thought that Illya had, borrowing Napoleon's words, "mellowed out a great deal." The Illya before her now reminded her of that tall formidable figure chasing Napoleon and her through the dark streets of West Berlin, the relentless hound of the KGB and the Stasi.

But she had seen the vulnerable belly of this beast and knew how soft the heart  was  within that great chest.

"Illya, stay safe and bring Napoleon home." She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

UNCLE continued on as before despite the absence of agents Solo and Kuryakin, Gaby mused bitterly. After all, they are disposable. Oleg and even Waverly to some extent understood that fact very well.

* * *


End file.
